Fun With Phones
by LauraCynthia
Summary: Some of the more interesting things that happen when you're patrolling the phones.
1. Hungry Machine

_Ring!_

His head cocked sideways at the familiar sound, imperceptible to the midday crowd who didn't give him a second thought. He was just another face in the crowd and he liked it that way.

_Luck of the draw…what now? _Any number of tricky problems might come down to him through the air and fibre optic cables. _He _didn't get to pick and choose. It was better this way.

Casting a glance at a reflection in the window of a nearby dry cleaners, he effortlessly slipped from the crowd towards the waiting phone booth. They were scarcer than ever these days, but his actions drew no more notice than the young woman behind him who had dropped her smartphone on the cracked sidewalk.

Pushing open the doors, he lifted up the receiver of the still ringing phone and pressed it to his ear. Listening for the familiar sound of a series of numbers repeated in different random voices.

He was not prepared for what he heard.

"Hello"

"I"

"would"

"like"

"to"

"order"

"an"

"extra"

"large"

"pepperoni"

"pizza…"

He stopped listening.

Plowing out of the booth, he stopped in front of a security camera perched just above the dry cleaners' door. He threw his arms up in the air. "_Really?"_

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out.

"April Fools, John." Finch paused. "And for the record, it was _her_ idea."


	2. Scrambled Lines

"Who do you know in India, Harold?"

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack, Ms. Groves? And nobody." Finch unclenched his hands from the edge of the table, glancing once more at the Caller ID display. "It's probably some criminal who wants to sell me substandard air duct cleaning."

Root smiled as she lit on the desk next to him, waggling a finger. "Tsk, tsk. What is this world coming to?" Suddenly, a strange gleam appeared in her eyes. "Answer it," she urged, lifting the receiver from its cradle.

"Why?" Harold asked, scrunching his brows together. "I see no reason to encourage their behaviour."

"Go ahead," Root grinned. "I promise you won't regret it."

Finch sighed. "Why am I doing this?" he wondered aloud as he took the phone from her hand. "Hello?"

"Hello. May I speak to Mr. Hoopoe please?"

"How did you get this number?" Finch shivered, spinning in his chair.

Root had moved next to him and was tapping on the keys. "_Keep him on the line." _she mouthed.

"Mr. Hoopoe, my name is Daniel and I am calling from Martin Air Duct Cleaning. We are having a special on cleaning in your area…."

"Yes, that all sounds very wonderful." Finch held the phone away from his ear. "How much longer?"

"Be….patient…okay!" Root snapped up, a smug smile on her face.

"…but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. Sorry." Finch hung up the phone with a loud _click!_ "He never stopped talking."

Root poked him in the arm. "Ask me what I did."

Finch frowned.

"Go ahead. Ask me."

Finch heaved a sigh. "What did you do?"

Root twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "Deleted their database of phone numbers and replaced it."

"With what, dare I ask?"

She grinned again. "Wonder how long 'til they figure out they're all calling each other?"

"You didn't…." Finch shot her a glance of admiration. "Well done, Ms. Groves. Well done. I should have thought of that myself years ago."


	3. Sorry, This Booth Is Already In Use

_Ring!...Ring!..._

_Okay, let's try this again…._

He got up off the green park bench and crossed the narrow street. A cyclist passed him perpendicularly as he stepped up onto the curb. He allowed his gaze to follow the lanky youth's progress down the walkway until he turned, making the appropriate hand signal as he did. _I thought nobody did that anymore,_ he mused.

The phone booth was old. A wad of purple chewing gum was stuck to the door panel and smears from thousands of careless hands decorated the frosted glass. He hesitated briefly before pushing on the door.

It opened only slightly before flying out of his hand with a loud _BANG! _He jumped back, startled. _What the-_

The door opened again, just a crack. A red-faced man stuck his head out of the door. "Do you mind?" he yelled in a stage whisper. Reese barely glimpsed a white sleeveless undershirt and red boxers before the man shut the door again.

"Oooookay…." He leaned against the brick wall and feigned boredom. Checked his watch. Noticed a house sparrow that soared overhead. Adjusted his jacket. Checked his watch again.

Two minutes passed this way before the phone booth burst open. The same man he'd seen earlier jumped out, clad in a bright blue suit that showed off an impressive set of muscles. He pointed his arms toward the sky and launched into the air with a loud _WHOOOSH!_

Reese shaded his eyes as he watched the man fly until he was a speck on the horizon. Turning back towards the open phone booth, he saw a pair of jeans, a green shirt, and some running shoes lying on the floor. He reached for the receiver. Then paused.

The camera was perched on a light standard near a flowerbed in the park he'd just exited. He faced it and shrugged helplessly.


	4. Freeze Tag

Finch pulled his jacket closer around him as the wind whipped up light snowflakes from the cold ground. "Excuse me," he muttered as a woman rapidly pushed a covered jogging stroller past him, her eyes never leaving the sidewalk ahead of her. He caught a glimpse of a green sleeper as he spotted the tarnished silver numbers on the door of the building just ahead; 153.

He touched the 3 digits with the fingers of his gloved hand, before stealing a glance at a hidden camera attached to a broken light standard. "Care to tell me now why we're here?"

The phone in his pocket buzzed and he pulled it out to check the screen. There, in bold text, a single message appeared.

**I challenge you to the ice bucket challenge.**

He stared at the phone in disbelief. "Really?" Finch frowned at the camera. "You first," he muttered.

_Ping. Ping. _ A picture of Niagara Falls appeared, followed by one of a pile of crushed ice.

"Cheater." Finch put the phone back in his pocket. He looked over his shoulder at the camera. "Though I will concede that you couldn't very well participate in the traditional sense without damaging your circuitry." He thought for a moment. "Why _did_ you want me to come here, anyway?"

_Buzz_.

Finch removed the phone again.

**Look up. **

He squinted into the bright morning sun just peeking out from behind the metal awning above. Thick icicles hung down from a sheet of snow.

_Creak_. _Creeeeeeeeak! _

At that instant it dawned on him. "Oh, no…" He shut his eyes and shielded his head with both arms, trying to run, but couldn't get out of the way fast enough. With a sickening _crack! _one side of the awning came loose from the wall, spilling the entire pile of snow and icicles onto him. _Whoosh!_

Several seconds passed before he opened his eyes. Snow and bits of ice covered his head, shoulders and arms. His glasses sat cockeyed on his head. Finch shivered, sputtering and frantically brushing the snow off his body. He glared at the camera, arms crossed over his body, shaking. "I thought this was v–v-voluntary."

_Buzz._

**Who do you challenge?**

"I don't see the point. My social circle is too limited and I'm sure you know the danger of posting a video of this-_incident_- publicly."

_Ring! _"Now what?" he muttered as his frozen fingers manipulated the phone. "Hello?"

"Great look, Harold. Or should I call you 'Frosty'?" Root grinned as she took a sip of hot chocolate from the steaming mug in front of her.

"A joint effort, I take it, Miss Groves?" Finch snapped.

"Heavens, no. I'm just enjoying the view." She leaned back in her chair on the otherwise deserted outdoor patio of the café. "Don't be such a killjoy, Harold. As somebody once said, '_Let it go.'_" She hummed the tune of the song from _Frozen_. "Bye-ee." She ended the call with a playful tap on her phone, then wrapped her hands around the mug once more.

Finch stood there staring at the phone, his mouth tight. "I don't believe you." He shivered again and pulled his arms closer to his body.

An almost evil smile crept across his face. He turned back to the camera. "On second thought, maybe I _will _challenge someone…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I wish you'd give me some kind of hint, at least…" Root leaned against the bus stop signpost. A short puffy white jacket, complete with fur on the hood, covered her midsection. Bright pink fuzzy ear muffs were the only adornment on her head. "Has she told you anything?"

"Negative." Finch wrapped himself in a red blanket before sitting down before the computer screen. His voice and expression betrayed nothing. "Remain where you are until you are instructed otherwise."

"But it's _freezing _out here. Like, 90 below zero." She fake-coughed twice and rubbed her hands together. "This isn't some kind of punishment, is it?"

"Not at all. Whatever gave you that idea?" Finch leaned down to scratch Bear on the ears. The dog whined at his feet. He brought up the local weather report on his computer screen. "And it is 33 degrees Fahrenheit, not '90 below zero'. You should know better; ice doesn't melt at temperatures like that."

"Well, it sure _feels _like it." Root stamped her feet in the snow. "I wish I'd brought some cocoa for the road." She checked the time on her phone. "It's been half an hour already. Who am I supposed to be looking for, anyway?"

Light from the screen glowed on Finch's face as he watched a fast moving point on a map. "You'll see. Any second now…."

A New York express transit bus appeared at the crest of the hill and began its descent down the street towards Root's position. "So they're on the bus-" She was interrupted by a sudden spray of water as the bus, without stopping, roared past her. _SPLASH! _A cascade of water drenched her all over. The bus continued on down the street at the same speed.

Root stood there, frozen, soaking wet from head to toe. Her once-cheery muffs now looked soppingly pathetic, and her hair was dark and stringy over her face. She shook all over.

Bunching her hair in one hand, she pushed it aside. Rage glittered in her eyes, her breathing uneven and loud. "What is your _problem_? " she hissed. "Just because I had a little fun at your-"

"She knew you would never accept the challenge willingly, either. Happy pneumonia." _Beep._


End file.
